The clock just turned past midnight - it is officially my birthday. I've got a cup of tea to help me stay awake this one more hour - but I'm not sure I needed it, for I find myself curiously wide awake.
Tonight, we had our Maundy Thursday service at the church. If you don't know this, it is the last night that Jesus got to spend free and with his disciples. It is the evening of the foot-washing, the Last Supper when Jesus defined the Eucharist as representational of his body and blood, and when he sat right next to and shared food with his betrayer. I find it a bit sad and strange that this particular service is not well-attended. It is all about the ritual that is central to our worship - Communion. This is where it began.
A big storm moved in during the service. The lights seemed low and the large, yawning space of soaring roof and stained glass felt cozy in the evening storm - safe. After the service, but before the recessional, we stripped the altar. The cloth was removed. The candlesticks taken back to the sacristy. There is nothing left but a bare table with no adornment at all but for the cross that hangs above it, a stark reminder of what is about to happen 2017 years ago.
And now, it is midnight. It is the hour I chose to sit vigil - to wait with Jesus during his darkest night. He knew... about Judas. About the soldiers in the morning. About all that was to follow a kiss from one of his closest friends. He didn't want any of it, asked that it not happen, but accepted it anyway. So I sat and waited too. I read all four versions of this night as remembered in Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. Most were quite short and not terribly detailed, but Luke spelled it out.
For me, this was like time travel... I sat with him when his own friends and disciples slept. I sorrowed for his morning as I looked forward to my own future. How different we are, and yet how much the same. At the end of my hour of vigil, I turned off my light, knowing that I did what I could and slept soundly until my alarm went off this morning.
Friday, March 25, 2016
Before... and After
Note: This was written back in February of 2016.
It feels a little selfish to admit this, but I'm having a hard time here. I suppose some people would raise their eyebrows and say rather pointedly "YOU'RE having a hard time??? What about HIM?"
"Him" would be my husband - and it's true, he's having a very difficult time of it right now. He's railing against fate and limitations that make him feel less like himself. Somehow, I think he didn't believe he would ever age, would never be mortal, would have physical failings beyond his control. He pushes back, risking everything. That makes me so angry - and scares the hell out of me all at the same time.
5 months ago, he was in a car accident. He was driving through a neighborhood at a slow speed, knowing there were children in the neighborhood. Next thing he knows, there's a sheriff's deputy asking him if he's alright. He doesn't remember anything, but the front end of his truck is wrapped around a tree in someone's front yard. We don't know why this happened, but we suspect he may have fallen asleep at the wheel. The deputy seemed to think so. And husband has had a hard time getting rest lately. He woke exhausted after a night's sleep. Apnea seems a reasonable issue, so we pursue seeing doctors and getting a sleep study. He's supposed to get the results of that study next week.
Things seemed to go back to normal. We bought a new-to-us truck that was in great shape and had low mileage for him to drive and we were set. Until last weekend.
He got up early to go to work. He put the animals out so they wouldn't bother me, made some bacon and left the house around 6:30am.
I got up just before 8 and was just sitting down with my tea about 10 after when the phone rang. Caller ID said it was the hospital. My mind raced. Mom? Dad? Which one of them had gone to the hospital? But when I picked up the phone, it wasn't them - it was my husband. A nurse told me that he was in the Emergency Room, that there'd been an accident. He'd just come around and they were trying to keep him lying on the table - I heard the nurse tell him to please lay back and don't move.
I get there and my husband is sitting up in the trauma area. He's got IV's in his arms. He's in a hospital gown. He looks dazed and has the most impressive shiner I've ever seen blooming around his right eye.
He doesn't remember anything.
Like the previous accident, he was driving along (about to get on the interstate) and then he was lying on a gurney in the hospital and he has no idea what happened between those two events. The police left just before I got there and they told him that he'd been in an accident. That he hit another car. That an eyewitness said he'd been having a seizure at the time of the accident. A seizure? This is new information to us. He's never had one before (that we know of). Could that be what happened in the first accident too?
We are at the hospital all day. He gets intravenous liquids. They give him a loading dose of an anti-seizure medicine and a prescription for more to be taken twice a day. Finally, they say we can go. I get his bag of clothes so he can get dressed and there's no shirt. It had to be cut off of him because they were concerned about a neck injury. The nurse goes and finds him a shirt. It's a scrub shirt with some event logo on the back. He is now in style with a number of homeless men who have passed through the doors of the ER, whose shirts were ruined in one way or another.
His stuff is still in the truck, including his glasses. I call the tow yard and arrange to meet someone there so we can get his stuff back. After a short wait, someone shows up and leads us through a gate to a space behind the building. There, we find his truck and the car he hit. From the secondhand description, I thought he'd rear-ended someone, but this car was hit in the side. Puzzling. Not sure how he managed that.
The inside of the truck seems somehow compressed. The airbag went off. The rear-view mirror is sitting on the floor. The seatbelt is locked tight and cannot be pulled out from its retracted position. The passenger side door won't open at all. I get the distinct feeling that my husband is an extremely lucky and/or blessed individual. He should have been hurt far worse. Had he actually made it to the interstate, he might even have been killed.
So now, life is changed. He can't drive, obviously. I have to take him or he rides the bus or his bike to get around. He walks. He is making the adjustment, but he's not happy about having to do it. Losing his ability to drive (at least for now) makes him understand his dad a little more. His father had his license taken away and felt like less of a person because his mobility and freedom to do things on his own had been taken from him. My husband CAN be mobile, but not in his own car so it's a little different.
But it's still an adjustment. He's trying to make the best of things and putting the best face on it that he can - but it's still hard on him.
And on me.
UPDATE (March 2016): He is adjusting well. He's surrendered his driver's license, saying that he just doesn't want to drive anymore. He gets around on his bike and is probably the fittest he's ever been. The medication that they gave him in the hospital seems to work really well and he has had no more creepy feelings or seizures while on it (they took him off briefly and the seizures returned, so he's back on and has had no more since). He feels pretty good and is rather proud of his reduced carbon footprint.
UPDATE (January 2017) He was going to get his license back in May. We bought a little Ford Ranger for him to drive when he did. A week later, he had another seizure at work. Back to the hospital and the doctors - where he admitted that the medicine made him feel sleepy and that he wasn't taking it "as directed", but rather skipping doses here and there. He was told in no uncertain terms that taking the medication as prescribed was absolutely necessary if he didn't want to have seizures. He has since been doing as he was told and has had no more problems. He'll be getting his driver's license again in March and HE gets the honor of teaching our granddaughter to drive. He doesn't want to mess that up.
It feels a little selfish to admit this, but I'm having a hard time here. I suppose some people would raise their eyebrows and say rather pointedly "YOU'RE having a hard time??? What about HIM?"
"Him" would be my husband - and it's true, he's having a very difficult time of it right now. He's railing against fate and limitations that make him feel less like himself. Somehow, I think he didn't believe he would ever age, would never be mortal, would have physical failings beyond his control. He pushes back, risking everything. That makes me so angry - and scares the hell out of me all at the same time.
5 months ago, he was in a car accident. He was driving through a neighborhood at a slow speed, knowing there were children in the neighborhood. Next thing he knows, there's a sheriff's deputy asking him if he's alright. He doesn't remember anything, but the front end of his truck is wrapped around a tree in someone's front yard. We don't know why this happened, but we suspect he may have fallen asleep at the wheel. The deputy seemed to think so. And husband has had a hard time getting rest lately. He woke exhausted after a night's sleep. Apnea seems a reasonable issue, so we pursue seeing doctors and getting a sleep study. He's supposed to get the results of that study next week.
Things seemed to go back to normal. We bought a new-to-us truck that was in great shape and had low mileage for him to drive and we were set. Until last weekend.
He got up early to go to work. He put the animals out so they wouldn't bother me, made some bacon and left the house around 6:30am.
I got up just before 8 and was just sitting down with my tea about 10 after when the phone rang. Caller ID said it was the hospital. My mind raced. Mom? Dad? Which one of them had gone to the hospital? But when I picked up the phone, it wasn't them - it was my husband. A nurse told me that he was in the Emergency Room, that there'd been an accident. He'd just come around and they were trying to keep him lying on the table - I heard the nurse tell him to please lay back and don't move.
I get there and my husband is sitting up in the trauma area. He's got IV's in his arms. He's in a hospital gown. He looks dazed and has the most impressive shiner I've ever seen blooming around his right eye.
He doesn't remember anything.
Like the previous accident, he was driving along (about to get on the interstate) and then he was lying on a gurney in the hospital and he has no idea what happened between those two events. The police left just before I got there and they told him that he'd been in an accident. That he hit another car. That an eyewitness said he'd been having a seizure at the time of the accident. A seizure? This is new information to us. He's never had one before (that we know of). Could that be what happened in the first accident too?
We are at the hospital all day. He gets intravenous liquids. They give him a loading dose of an anti-seizure medicine and a prescription for more to be taken twice a day. Finally, they say we can go. I get his bag of clothes so he can get dressed and there's no shirt. It had to be cut off of him because they were concerned about a neck injury. The nurse goes and finds him a shirt. It's a scrub shirt with some event logo on the back. He is now in style with a number of homeless men who have passed through the doors of the ER, whose shirts were ruined in one way or another.
His stuff is still in the truck, including his glasses. I call the tow yard and arrange to meet someone there so we can get his stuff back. After a short wait, someone shows up and leads us through a gate to a space behind the building. There, we find his truck and the car he hit. From the secondhand description, I thought he'd rear-ended someone, but this car was hit in the side. Puzzling. Not sure how he managed that.
The inside of the truck seems somehow compressed. The airbag went off. The rear-view mirror is sitting on the floor. The seatbelt is locked tight and cannot be pulled out from its retracted position. The passenger side door won't open at all. I get the distinct feeling that my husband is an extremely lucky and/or blessed individual. He should have been hurt far worse. Had he actually made it to the interstate, he might even have been killed.
So now, life is changed. He can't drive, obviously. I have to take him or he rides the bus or his bike to get around. He walks. He is making the adjustment, but he's not happy about having to do it. Losing his ability to drive (at least for now) makes him understand his dad a little more. His father had his license taken away and felt like less of a person because his mobility and freedom to do things on his own had been taken from him. My husband CAN be mobile, but not in his own car so it's a little different.
But it's still an adjustment. He's trying to make the best of things and putting the best face on it that he can - but it's still hard on him.
UPDATE (March 2016): He is adjusting well. He's surrendered his driver's license, saying that he just doesn't want to drive anymore. He gets around on his bike and is probably the fittest he's ever been. The medication that they gave him in the hospital seems to work really well and he has had no more creepy feelings or seizures while on it (they took him off briefly and the seizures returned, so he's back on and has had no more since). He feels pretty good and is rather proud of his reduced carbon footprint.
UPDATE (January 2017) He was going to get his license back in May. We bought a little Ford Ranger for him to drive when he did. A week later, he had another seizure at work. Back to the hospital and the doctors - where he admitted that the medicine made him feel sleepy and that he wasn't taking it "as directed", but rather skipping doses here and there. He was told in no uncertain terms that taking the medication as prescribed was absolutely necessary if he didn't want to have seizures. He has since been doing as he was told and has had no more problems. He'll be getting his driver's license again in March and HE gets the honor of teaching our granddaughter to drive. He doesn't want to mess that up.
Wednesday, December 02, 2015
Christmas Spirit
I have reached that fairly comfortable place in my life where there is little I want or need for Christmas. A book is nice, but I have lots of books that I haven't even read yet.
Today, as I drove to pick up my lunch from a nearby sushi place, I was flipping through radio stations in my car (why, oh why is Prince the first thing I hear on almost every station???) when I accidentally pressed the button that turned my favorite station into 24/7 Christmas music. Don't get me wrong - I love Christmas music - but I don't want to hear it from before Thanksgiving all the way to Christmas Day. Start it up on December 15th or even the 20th. That's plenty of time... but I digress. So, I accidentally pushed that button and "The Little Drummer Boy" was playing. It was at the part where it goes "... a child, a child, shivers in the cold. Let us bring him silver and gold..." and I teared up.
Yeah, sometimes I'm a sap. Songs and commercials get to me. But this.... this triggered a whole series of thoughts about children and cold and homelessness and hunger. It also started me thinking about the the way the world is today. All those borders that are being closed to refugees. People being shot for being teens or cops or trans-gendered or just standing in the wrong place at the wrong time. These people who commit all these atrocities against other people - were they cared for as children? Did they have enough to eat? Were they warm enough? Have they had enough opportunities to make something of themselves? Were they loved?
I was one of the lucky ones. I was always loved, always fed, always housed. I did well in school because I was smart, but also because my stomach wasn't empty and I had a loving home to return to at the end of the day. No one was beating me or telling me I was worthless or sexually abusing me or depriving me of sleep so I couldn't focus on school.
Shivers in the cold. Not just little kids either. Teens are a huge homeless population. So are veterans and people with mental health issues.
I am only one person and I am not rich. I cannot fix the world by myself. But because I am in this place where I don't want/need Christmas presents, I have a request of you. If you are someone who might normally give me something, would you instead do something to support a shelter or a food pantry or a program that helps the homeless and/or underserved? Something big, something small - it doesn't matter. You don't even have to tell me - just do it. Below, I've posted some organizations around Tallahassee that can use some help, but if you're not here, feel free to explore organizations in your own area. This is, unfortunately, not a local problem.
Going Places (supports homeless and traveling teens)
Grace Mission (feeds/clothes homeless and underserved, programs for children)
Kearney Center (homeless shelter)
Good News Outreach (food ministry, elderly)
ECHO (people in crisis/poverty)
Refuge House (domestic violence)
And I'd like to add Orphan's Heart, which feeds undernourished children in Guatemala and all over.
I know of this one personally through another blogger who goes there as often as possible and helps out at the Malnutrition Center in Guatemala. Because of her, I've gotten to see a tiny boy named Bili grow from a weak, tiny child to a strong, robust one who started school and moved home with his family this past year. To read about it, visit From a Heavenly Land and search for Guatemala.
P.S. Our new program, LOCAL ROUTES on WFSU-TV recently featured a story on Going Places. Take a look.
These are but a few. I'm sure you can find more. Part of me thinks (hopes) that if we can care for the people out there, young and old TODAY, perhaps the future can be more about love than hate and anger and me-first. Thank you. And Merry Christmas.
Today, as I drove to pick up my lunch from a nearby sushi place, I was flipping through radio stations in my car (why, oh why is Prince the first thing I hear on almost every station???) when I accidentally pressed the button that turned my favorite station into 24/7 Christmas music. Don't get me wrong - I love Christmas music - but I don't want to hear it from before Thanksgiving all the way to Christmas Day. Start it up on December 15th or even the 20th. That's plenty of time... but I digress. So, I accidentally pushed that button and "The Little Drummer Boy" was playing. It was at the part where it goes "... a child, a child, shivers in the cold. Let us bring him silver and gold..." and I teared up.
Yeah, sometimes I'm a sap. Songs and commercials get to me. But this.... this triggered a whole series of thoughts about children and cold and homelessness and hunger. It also started me thinking about the the way the world is today. All those borders that are being closed to refugees. People being shot for being teens or cops or trans-gendered or just standing in the wrong place at the wrong time. These people who commit all these atrocities against other people - were they cared for as children? Did they have enough to eat? Were they warm enough? Have they had enough opportunities to make something of themselves? Were they loved?
I was one of the lucky ones. I was always loved, always fed, always housed. I did well in school because I was smart, but also because my stomach wasn't empty and I had a loving home to return to at the end of the day. No one was beating me or telling me I was worthless or sexually abusing me or depriving me of sleep so I couldn't focus on school.
Shivers in the cold. Not just little kids either. Teens are a huge homeless population. So are veterans and people with mental health issues.
I am only one person and I am not rich. I cannot fix the world by myself. But because I am in this place where I don't want/need Christmas presents, I have a request of you. If you are someone who might normally give me something, would you instead do something to support a shelter or a food pantry or a program that helps the homeless and/or underserved? Something big, something small - it doesn't matter. You don't even have to tell me - just do it. Below, I've posted some organizations around Tallahassee that can use some help, but if you're not here, feel free to explore organizations in your own area. This is, unfortunately, not a local problem.
Going Places (supports homeless and traveling teens)
Grace Mission (feeds/clothes homeless and underserved, programs for children)
Kearney Center (homeless shelter)
Good News Outreach (food ministry, elderly)
ECHO (people in crisis/poverty)
Refuge House (domestic violence)
And I'd like to add Orphan's Heart, which feeds undernourished children in Guatemala and all over.
I know of this one personally through another blogger who goes there as often as possible and helps out at the Malnutrition Center in Guatemala. Because of her, I've gotten to see a tiny boy named Bili grow from a weak, tiny child to a strong, robust one who started school and moved home with his family this past year. To read about it, visit From a Heavenly Land and search for Guatemala.
P.S. Our new program, LOCAL ROUTES on WFSU-TV recently featured a story on Going Places. Take a look.
These are but a few. I'm sure you can find more. Part of me thinks (hopes) that if we can care for the people out there, young and old TODAY, perhaps the future can be more about love than hate and anger and me-first. Thank you. And Merry Christmas.
Monday, September 21, 2015
In the Pink
I had an EVENT to go to Saturday night. It was a fundraiser for Grace Mission, which feeds and clothes the homeless and/or disadvantaged and also offers tutoring and mentoring to at-risk children.
I was home Friday night moaning over a sore belly when a friend facebook-chatted me asking if I'd like to go - she had a spare ticket. I've been to a couple before, so gave her an enthusiastic YES. Saturday was a quiet day, and I decided to start getting ready around 4. Then I looked at the invitation - Cocktail Attire.
What? Cocktail Attire?
I only have one dress that might qualify, but I had no shoes! My shoe wardrobe consists of my running shoes and a pair of "hippie" sandals. Neither are new, and the sandals tended to smell like feet when it was warm out (it was in the 80s). That left my running shoes. If I had any other shoes, I couldn't find them (having rearranged my closet and room a few months ago).
So. Running shoes.
What could I wear that would work for this fundraiser AND my running shoes?
Finally, I settled on a pink t-shirt with a crazy purple and pink and white skirt. The trim on my shoes is pink, so that actually worked!
As I approached the party, I saw lots of people in slinky black and high heels, floaty chiffon tops over sleek black pants. Everyone looked so beautiful and dressy! I felt a bit under-dressed in my t-shirt and running shoes. While I was standing there, taking it all in, a car pulled up and a woman jumped out, came around and handed out a tiny old woman and her rolling walker. The woman asked if she'd be okay to wait there while she parked the car. It was hot. The sun was still hot on the skin, so I offered to walk the tiny woman towards the party while her daughter parked the car.
We walked slowly, chatting - and found a bench in the shade just before the table where you turn in your tickets. We sat and I learned her name was Jerry and that she ran a pharmacy. At 90 years old, she still goes every day. I was thoroughly enjoying our talk when her daughter came to claim her. We said goodbye and I realized that how I was dressed wasn't going to affect how much I enjoyed talking to the people I'd be with.
As it turns out, the men in their suits and the women in their heels weren't as comfortable as I was. There was a silent group sigh of relief when it was time to go in and sit down for dinner. Pastor Amanda, who heads up Grace Mission had actually ditched her shoes altogether by then and spent the rest of the evening walking around in her lovely dress barefoot.
It was a very good night.
I was home Friday night moaning over a sore belly when a friend facebook-chatted me asking if I'd like to go - she had a spare ticket. I've been to a couple before, so gave her an enthusiastic YES. Saturday was a quiet day, and I decided to start getting ready around 4. Then I looked at the invitation - Cocktail Attire.
What? Cocktail Attire?
I only have one dress that might qualify, but I had no shoes! My shoe wardrobe consists of my running shoes and a pair of "hippie" sandals. Neither are new, and the sandals tended to smell like feet when it was warm out (it was in the 80s). That left my running shoes. If I had any other shoes, I couldn't find them (having rearranged my closet and room a few months ago).
So. Running shoes.
What could I wear that would work for this fundraiser AND my running shoes?
Finally, I settled on a pink t-shirt with a crazy purple and pink and white skirt. The trim on my shoes is pink, so that actually worked!
As I approached the party, I saw lots of people in slinky black and high heels, floaty chiffon tops over sleek black pants. Everyone looked so beautiful and dressy! I felt a bit under-dressed in my t-shirt and running shoes. While I was standing there, taking it all in, a car pulled up and a woman jumped out, came around and handed out a tiny old woman and her rolling walker. The woman asked if she'd be okay to wait there while she parked the car. It was hot. The sun was still hot on the skin, so I offered to walk the tiny woman towards the party while her daughter parked the car.
We walked slowly, chatting - and found a bench in the shade just before the table where you turn in your tickets. We sat and I learned her name was Jerry and that she ran a pharmacy. At 90 years old, she still goes every day. I was thoroughly enjoying our talk when her daughter came to claim her. We said goodbye and I realized that how I was dressed wasn't going to affect how much I enjoyed talking to the people I'd be with.
As it turns out, the men in their suits and the women in their heels weren't as comfortable as I was. There was a silent group sigh of relief when it was time to go in and sit down for dinner. Pastor Amanda, who heads up Grace Mission had actually ditched her shoes altogether by then and spent the rest of the evening walking around in her lovely dress barefoot.
It was a very good night.
Thursday, September 03, 2015
Peaceful Surroundings
I've always approached Llanbedr from the southeast, driving up from London. This was my first time seeing the northern part or driving through Bala (a semi-resort area about halfway between Manchester and Llanbedr). I must say, it is even more beautiful than the southern route.
Now that I actually have the hang of driving in England/Wales, I can enjoy the drive! We took our time and stopped when the mood struck us, and rolled into Barmouth (south of Llanbedr) and drove around in there for a bit. I showed the guys where the summer fair was and the train station and the grocery store I shopped at the last time I was here. I took them along the beach road and we got out to stretch our legs a little before climbing back into the car for the last leg of our journey.
We stopped briefly in Dyffryn and bought some eggs, milk, bread, butter, cheese and ham before continuing on...
I knew the way from Barmouth and truly enjoyed the drive without worrying about maps. Corky and Z were minorly concerned, but soon relaxed as they realized I knew what I was doing. I talked about the various landmarks between and told them we'd be very close once we crossed the bridge over the Nantcol and turned at the Victoria Hotel. When those two landmarks turned out to be real, they started getting excited! We started heading uphill, made a sharp right and crossed another bridge, and when it seemed the road was ending, I turned up a steep drive and headed into the woods. The single lane road was quite roller-coaster-y and I tooted my horn a couple of times coming up a totally blind hill or around a blind corner. We passed through a stone wall and back out into the open fields and continued up a dirt drive, passing the Thomas' farm before finally arriving on family property. I told both Corky and Z that if they opened a gate, they had to close the gate. Nothing irks people faster than having their livestock roaming free. Cattle grates can only do so much. Z hopped out and opened three gates (and closed them) between the property line and the dooryard. In the first field, we saw lots of sheep - ewes and lambs who came running, thinking that we might have food.... The guys were charmed before we even got out of the car.
Cousin Ben had not arrived yet, but Aunt Pip left the key in the door to Y Bwythn (literally The Cottage) where we would be staying. We unloaded the car and headed upstairs. Z set up in the bedroom with the twin beds and Corky and I headed for the king in the other room. Once we were settled, we went for a walk.
I took them down behind the piggery. A big storm had blown through a while before and there were huge trees knocked down all over.
One appeared to be resting on the roof of the piggery, but clean up from that storm seemed to be progressing slowly. After inspecting the little stream and the downed trees, we walked back up to the field behind the main house.
There are varying stories of how old this house actually is. When I was a kid, I was told it was 800 years old. Recent geneology rememberances put it at around 400. It's built of the fieldstone around the property (you can see a bit in the grass lower right in the picture above) and when I was here in 1980, they were about to build on a new kitchen (bottom right of the house), so Dad and I joined with Uncle John in his quest for rocks to build it with. It was fun and interesting and involved a dynamite guy called Daffyd the Bang to blast rocks out of the ground. At one point, we were in the woods and Grandma was there with us - Daffyd set the charge while we hid behind trees. After the explosion, Grandma stepped out to see, just as bits of rock started raining down. Uncle John yelled "Get back behind the tree - it's not the bang that kills you!"
We walked up the lane (the driveway into the dooryard) and back through the field we'd driven through and headed down towards the woods. It looks so cool, dark and inviting just beyond the wall...
And we walked in a bit before turning off the road and onto a path.
It led us a bit deeper in until we started downhill and came upon a small reservoir formed by a dam.
Tuesday, September 01, 2015
World Travelers...
School is back in and my son is taking an ACT/SAT prep course. He's actually getting into this class. It's making him think about what he wants to study, where he wants to go to college and what he might like to do to earn a living in the future. My little boy is suddenly behaving a lot like a man - which is a good thing.
On the first day of class, his instructor asked if any of them had been overseas during the summer. He admitted to me that he was absolutely thrilled to be one of two students to raise his hand!
This past summer, I decided it was time to introduce my son and my husband to my favorite place in the world. It is NOT in the United States. I've been numerous times, and every time I came home, I would say wistfully that I wished I didn't have to come back (much to my husband's consternation). Now, he understands.
I started saving money last year, thinking we might do this - my grandmother who lives there is 96. She's still chugging along, but I realized that my opportunities to see her and spend time with her were becoming extremely limited. It was time to act! I got the guys downtown to apply for passports, and told Z that from now on, he should always have a valid passport because when opportunities to travel crop up, you want to be able to GO!
School wrapped up and the following weekend, we drove to Orlando to catch our plane. My friend Jennifer babysat our car and took us to the airport.
It's only been a couple of years since I flew to England, but things have changed already... You can pre-purchase specific seats for an extra fee (a rather hefty one at that). If you don't, you can choose your seats for free 24 hours before the flight - but if you're not on the ball, you won't get what you want. I did manage to snag a couple of extra legroom seats for Corky and Z, but I wound up sitting several rows up, squished between a snoring little Indian woman and a very large man. It was not the most comfortable way to spend 9 hours..
We flew into Manchester rather than London, since it was relatively closer to the part of Wales we were headed towards. I'd already rented a car and booked a hotel room because I knew we'd be too tired to drive down after the flight.
The car I booked was a stick shift, but I realized, having never actually driving in England, that I would rather have an automatic transmission so I could concentrate on the actual driving rather than working clutch and stick in an unfamiliar configuration while trying to navigate the streets. In the end, we wound up with a Mercedes hatchback (!) for way too much money - but as it turned out, it was a very good move on my part. Another good move was having traveler and rental insurance (more about that later).
Having arrived, settled our car and loaded our bags, we set out for our hotel with directions from the rental place. Now let me tell you this - road signage is NOT something the British road system is very good at. And many, many intersections are round-abouts with between 3 and 7 roads to possibly exit onto (but not labeled well) made navigating difficult to say the least. It's easy to lose your bearings when going around in circles. The hotel was a Holiday Inn in West Manchester, in an area called Salford - supposedly about 8 miles from the airport. FIVE HOURS LATER, after having stopped in a library in Eccleston and getting directions, we finally found the Sainsburys on the corner near where we were supposed to wind up. It was enough to go on, and we finally found our un-signed road and the hotel with the sign hidden in the bushes. Life is different in Manchester than in the US. In the US, there would have been signage screaming everywhere - STAY HERE! Just up the road a little more and you're THERE! This journey felt like we were tracking down a national secret - and when we finally staggered into the hotel after being awake for over 24 hours (for me), it was a huge relief. I can't even remember what we did about dinner (I think we walked to Sainsburys for cheese and crackers just to make sure our legs still worked), but when I hit that bed, I felt like I'd landed in a cloud and slept soundly (and, according to the guys, loudly) for at least 10 hours.
More to come.
On the first day of class, his instructor asked if any of them had been overseas during the summer. He admitted to me that he was absolutely thrilled to be one of two students to raise his hand!
This past summer, I decided it was time to introduce my son and my husband to my favorite place in the world. It is NOT in the United States. I've been numerous times, and every time I came home, I would say wistfully that I wished I didn't have to come back (much to my husband's consternation). Now, he understands.
I started saving money last year, thinking we might do this - my grandmother who lives there is 96. She's still chugging along, but I realized that my opportunities to see her and spend time with her were becoming extremely limited. It was time to act! I got the guys downtown to apply for passports, and told Z that from now on, he should always have a valid passport because when opportunities to travel crop up, you want to be able to GO!
School wrapped up and the following weekend, we drove to Orlando to catch our plane. My friend Jennifer babysat our car and took us to the airport.
It's only been a couple of years since I flew to England, but things have changed already... You can pre-purchase specific seats for an extra fee (a rather hefty one at that). If you don't, you can choose your seats for free 24 hours before the flight - but if you're not on the ball, you won't get what you want. I did manage to snag a couple of extra legroom seats for Corky and Z, but I wound up sitting several rows up, squished between a snoring little Indian woman and a very large man. It was not the most comfortable way to spend 9 hours..
We flew into Manchester rather than London, since it was relatively closer to the part of Wales we were headed towards. I'd already rented a car and booked a hotel room because I knew we'd be too tired to drive down after the flight.
The car I booked was a stick shift, but I realized, having never actually driving in England, that I would rather have an automatic transmission so I could concentrate on the actual driving rather than working clutch and stick in an unfamiliar configuration while trying to navigate the streets. In the end, we wound up with a Mercedes hatchback (!) for way too much money - but as it turned out, it was a very good move on my part. Another good move was having traveler and rental insurance (more about that later).
Having arrived, settled our car and loaded our bags, we set out for our hotel with directions from the rental place. Now let me tell you this - road signage is NOT something the British road system is very good at. And many, many intersections are round-abouts with between 3 and 7 roads to possibly exit onto (but not labeled well) made navigating difficult to say the least. It's easy to lose your bearings when going around in circles. The hotel was a Holiday Inn in West Manchester, in an area called Salford - supposedly about 8 miles from the airport. FIVE HOURS LATER, after having stopped in a library in Eccleston and getting directions, we finally found the Sainsburys on the corner near where we were supposed to wind up. It was enough to go on, and we finally found our un-signed road and the hotel with the sign hidden in the bushes. Life is different in Manchester than in the US. In the US, there would have been signage screaming everywhere - STAY HERE! Just up the road a little more and you're THERE! This journey felt like we were tracking down a national secret - and when we finally staggered into the hotel after being awake for over 24 hours (for me), it was a huge relief. I can't even remember what we did about dinner (I think we walked to Sainsburys for cheese and crackers just to make sure our legs still worked), but when I hit that bed, I felt like I'd landed in a cloud and slept soundly (and, according to the guys, loudly) for at least 10 hours.
More to come.
Wednesday, August 19, 2015
Taking Charge of My Health
If you know me, you know I'm a big girl. Not tall-big... round-big. I've been fighting it my whole life and a couple of times, I passed by "normal". The first time was as a teen and an anorexic. The second time was while I was dating my second husband and we were ACTIVE all the time - riding bikes, climbing, hiking, walking... ALL.THE.TIME. When I got pregnant, that was pretty much all she wrote - I couldn't get rid of the extra. I tried dieting; I tried exercise; I tried, well, everything. And I was tired. So I got bigger and bigger.
I'm always shocked when I look in the mirror. The outsides sure don't match my brain's image of myself. I forget that I'm as big as a house until I look in a mirror - and I rarely look in the mirror. I don't buy clothes, so I don't have that guide much either.
I turned 53 this year. I wanted to go visit my grandmother in Wales while there was still time (she's 96), so I took my husband and son and introduced them to my favorite place on earth. To do that, I had to fly, which is pretty uncomfortable when you're as big as I am. And while we were there, I found I was limited in what I could do because my body hurt so much. No problem going UP hills, but coming down made my hips scream. I couldn't climb the mountain this time. I had to wave goodbye to my guys as they set out to visit the cairn on top.
That trip made me realize something. I might be 53 years old, but I can still change my life. So I've started. I'm blogging about that little adventure over at 53 And Change. You can visit if you like. Just be nice, okay? I've said enough mean things to myself already. It's time for a change.
I'm always shocked when I look in the mirror. The outsides sure don't match my brain's image of myself. I forget that I'm as big as a house until I look in a mirror - and I rarely look in the mirror. I don't buy clothes, so I don't have that guide much either.
I turned 53 this year. I wanted to go visit my grandmother in Wales while there was still time (she's 96), so I took my husband and son and introduced them to my favorite place on earth. To do that, I had to fly, which is pretty uncomfortable when you're as big as I am. And while we were there, I found I was limited in what I could do because my body hurt so much. No problem going UP hills, but coming down made my hips scream. I couldn't climb the mountain this time. I had to wave goodbye to my guys as they set out to visit the cairn on top.
That trip made me realize something. I might be 53 years old, but I can still change my life. So I've started. I'm blogging about that little adventure over at 53 And Change. You can visit if you like. Just be nice, okay? I've said enough mean things to myself already. It's time for a change.
Wednesday, August 12, 2015
Posts are coming
I suddenly feel like there is a lot to write about. Boredom. Aging and Alzheimers. Maturing children. So much has been going on that I rarely feel like I have time to write - but I realize that some of this stuff just needs to be put down before my head explodes.
Probably after this weekend...
Probably after this weekend...
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